"callus" poems
Anna,
the young lions won't want you
forever.
Eventually you are going to
get tired
of keeping it tight,
of batting your eyes,
of applying the gloss just right.
Anna,
what will you do when the invitation beds
come to an end?
Eventually the lions will settle,
while you gather cobweb and callus,
while you smoke cancer and wallow in cellulite.
Anna,
find a boy who makes you feel like the sun.
Ultimately,
he's the only one who can save your soul
from all the crimes you've done.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 10:14 PM UTC
The love that a son has for his father..
The love that a father has for his son
A trust in another man to lead you and get it done
Showed me things gave me knowledge That on my own
I wouldn't have known
Something that can't be taught in college
Met you when I was in 7th grade I have grown
Can you see the seed you have sewed
Can you see where my work ethic comes from
Blood, sweat, and tears
Callus thumbs
Your the reason why I know that I can be a homeowner
Cause I seen you do it first
Held me up when times got rough
Fatherhood
When I wasn't ready you assisted like a crunch
When my heart was crushed
You open your doors help with my direction
When we kick it, manly admiration and love is what's reflected
Just want to let you know you are respected
My father died then God blessed me with you to prove I wasn't neglected
Fatherhood
Helped me stand when I couldn't
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
There sandy seems the golden sky
And golden seems the sandy plain.
No habitation meets the eye
Unless in the horizon rim,
Some halfway up the limestone wall,
That spot of black is not a stain
Or shadow, but a cavern hole,
Where someone used to climb and crawl
To rest from his besetting fears.
I see the callus on his soul
The disappearing last of him
And of his race starvation slim,
Oh years ago—ten thousand years.
6.2k
Will a Phoenix doused in water reignite?
Should the Sun ever disturb the night?
As my eyes take their rest my mind takes flight
Then quickly plummets straight into blight
Straight into sorrow; reigniting my rage
And keeps me awake as if it were day
Awake to write my story/Awake to dwell on the last page
How dare I wallow over someone engaged?
Great Leviathan, Demon God of water and life
Lend me your strength as I overcome this strife
Baptize me in your waters and revitalize my sight
Clear away all the salt and callus to turn my scleras white
Drown the anger in my heart; cease its return!
**** the Phoenix, for its presence burns!
Drown the Sun so that the moon may take its turn
Allow my brain to rest so that I may have the capacity learn
How to fully move on…
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths.
Kicking up clouds of dust with each step,
testing the thickness of my soles soul,
I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone,
digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding.
Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad.
Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within.
Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength.
Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path
by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot
down rocky, dirt paths.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Casually caressing
the comedy of life
A child knows not
tragedy’s strife.
There is always another dream
toy or friend
for their fetal-esteem.
They spell their grammar
with candy and curiosity
while maintaining a history
in smile and laughter.
The heroism of Joe
the G.I.
and the beauty of a Barbie
are created impulsively and
fueled by imagination and apple juice.
A bike is not
a means of transportation
but rather
meant to be raced and jumped.
Scooby-Doo
and the ****** Tunes should
rule Saturday mornings
from their throne in the tube.
Monkey bars and playgrounds,
are not merely a facility
to upkeep physical activity.
Instead
it is a kingdom of escape
engineered by make-believe
funded by risk-taking
and motivated by the
eradication of the cootie-plagued
and ****** pickers.
Where did time go,
when these bones grew old
this brain grew dull
and these hands lost their callus?
The world is cruel
for the elder mind.
Yet, for our youthful kin,
Society does not exist
in coloring books
and world peace is only found
in imagination and apple juice.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
You’re basic,
a lengthy silhouette
miming the human experience.
Staying up late
to blind yourself,
blinking to the sounds of sleepiness
heart beating to Skinny Love.
What ifs,
pre-recorded scenarios
imagining that first hug.
Contemplate that bottle of pills by the sink
that new film that you want to see,
condensation in the lid of the teapot.
You’re candid,
unsure if all scabs heal
trying to remember when you didn't have a writing callus,
when you slept through the night,
when purple was the only colour you didn't use.
Purify infectious matter,
***** green-blue wine glasses overflowing.
Tinfoil vases and orchid flowers,
melting boxes of 64 assorted crayons.
You’re laconic,
often dying to create,
like the verbose and the wordy
sighing simply to translate.
Missouri gift exchanges,
loose blue jeans ******
stacks of classics.
Tales of the Jazz Age wrinkling
to a slow 50s song.
You’re a try hard
dying to knit,
only true fear is disappointment
burning in the lime light.
6000 voluntary hours
linking syllables to daisy chains,
dropping pesos to foreigners,
hands sandwiched inside
the front cover and the first page
of The Count of Monte Cristo.
You’re basic,
down for maintenance,
compressing the weight of the atmosphere.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
I could have been a carpenter
With a callus on my hand
Or a marina worker
With my feet inside the sand
I could have been a historian
With glasses and a globe
But I’m just a lowly laborer
And my bones are getting old
I could have had a bank account
With lots cash and dough
Or a white picket fence
And I’d watch my green grass grow
I could have been successful
With sleep and no stress
But I chose dreams and passions
And still I feel I’m blessed
I could have never met you
With your big red sixties hair
Or could have never shared a night
In the starlight of your stare
I could have never known the truth
Lived my life a lie
But honesty has found me
Loving ‘til I die
I could have never realized
What a lucky lad I am
Or could have never battled
For what I believe in
I could have given up on it all
And laid down in defeat
But my love you do inspire
Me out onto the streets
I could have been a carpenter
With a hammer and a nail
I could have been a fireman
With a hard hat and a pale
I could have been lot of things
For there’s so much to be
But if I had to pick on one
I would pick on me
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
when i crashed
into the forest floor
the canopy stretched high above me
i lit a match
i've been here before
but i can't tell reality from dream
some time has past
the earth grows quiet
i see your face ingrained in every tree
the ember burns
down to my callus
i want to watch it swallow you and me
why do i turn
my mind to fire
to mend my broken bones and restless brain
i want to burn
i want to blister
feel everything, and never feel again
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
surrender to the darkness with a prayer
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
the smell of sulfur permeates the air
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 11:05 AM UTC
When I play you
My whole world disappears
With each note I play
Every time my fingers strum
I feel whole
It gives me this feeling
That I am inhuman
In the most humane way possible
I love everything about this feeling
The vibrations coming from you
Run right from my toes through my chest
To my brain
I soak up every bit of your existence
My finger tips might callus
But they’re battle wounds I’m proud of
Because I’m using the best possible weapon
You shield me from the outside
While taking a trip to my insides
Where you soothe my hurt
Play melodies on my heart strings
Run your freshly tuned music up my spine
When I play you
Every nerve ending, every particle within my being
Wakes up
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
~
October 2025
HP Poet: Pagan Paul
Country: UK
Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Paul. Please tell us about your background?
Pagan Paul: "I am from Bristol, England. I have always been a Free Spirit and never really settled into the society into which I was born. I am neuro-diverse. I am generally quite a shy and private person. I also write a little comedy and love listening to old comedy radio shows. I like cheese (especially vintage Chedder)."
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Pagan Paul: "I have been a member of HP since August 2016. I started writing poetry in around 2012, but not regularly. I think it was around 2015 I became more prolific and took it more seriously."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Pagan Paul: "My inspiration comes from many sources. Nature, mental health, relationships, experiences, articles, books and my interests. But also from the mess that is my mind."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Pagan Paul: "What does poetry mean to me? Escape and expression for my creativity. Its a chance to write down things in a way that makes more sense to my neuro-diverse mind as well as to explore and experiment with ideas, concepts and imagination."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Pagan Paul: "I do not really read much in the way of classical poetry (Byron, Keats etc) but do tend to read some from ancient Greece and Rome like Callus, Praxilla, Virgil etc. I also tend towards the more abstract or psychedelic poetry of James Douglas Morrison. As mentioned I am a fan of comedy poetry by people like Spike Milligan, Henry Normal and Pam Ayers always raise a laugh."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Pagan Paul: "My main interest is music and the consumption thereof. I listen to a lot of different music from different genres. I have always regretted never learning an instrument or music theory. I also read a lot, especially with regard to the ancient world. The old myths and legends and folklore are also a source of inspiration for my poetry."
Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Paul, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Paul better. We most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez
We will post Spotlight #33 in November!
~
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC
Oh,' be young or old, courageous or wise,
Whatever you do, whoever you are,
Beware of those souls whose words are the guise
Hiding a past marked with an ugly scar.
Their face may be benign hiding malus
With an altruistic front for a show;
Fragrance of a rose hides a soul callus
Envious heart wanting to take your glow.
Yet, your love and honesty guides your fate
No matter what others would say and do,
Love's the beacon to steer away from hate
Enjoy life and show the world the real you.
When deceptive people spin their charmed lies
Let not their words fool you, learn to be wise.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
This cough is a reminder of a renewed addiction to take stead until a new one comes along.
These scars are a reminder of how strong I can be,but how weak I was.
This callus which pumps away in my body is a reminder of how dangerous yet fleeting "love" is.
These dry cheeks are a reminder of how many tears I have shed for friend and foe, blurred by the gleam in my eyes.
This tremble is a reminder of how plagued by anxiety I am, Why? I won't know till it's too late.
These pictures are a reminder of how many of who I see are not with me now , taken away by time or ,most often, by death.
This ache only reminds me why I envy them so.
These memory's serve as a reminder of my mistakes in this life ,and oh how they disappoint me.
This poem is a reminder of why I've done what I'm doing.
Now please don't forget me.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Every hard thing that happens to a soft heart
leaves a callus
Every mean thing a heart hears leaves a ringing echo
Every stone that's thrown leaves shattered pieces
Every beating leaves a bruise
Every hailstorm it endures leaves dents
Every wreck leaves a place in need of a fix
Every tear leaves a place to sew a new stitch
Every lie it's told leaves it with a doubt
Every scream leaves it a little more deaf
Every bite leaves it starving
(for kindness)
Every tear drop makes it sink a little deeper
Every drought leaves an unquenchable thirst
Every time a heart is left starving it turns into a glutton
(for punishment)
Every heart that gets cut is left with a deeper scar than before
Every time a heart is pierced by a dagger
it puts on a little more armor
When a heart is left to bleed it
learns to apply pressure
A heart that gets shot learns to become a gangster
Every stab slices, stings, and burns
Every hit leaves a gaping hole too big to ever fill
Every time a tender heart trusts a lie
It becomes timid and learns to fly
(away)
Whenever a sweet heart gets tainted
it becomes bitter
(sour even)
When a hopeful heart's dreams don't come true
it becomes jaded
When a loving heart witnesses hate
It becomes scared with terror
When a heart gets broken it
learns to heal
But becomes misunderstood
When a heart gets cornered it rolls over
or lashes out in defense
When a heart has been used it
stops being so giving
When a heart becomes wounded
It decides to lay down or stay in the fight
When a heart is shackled and tortured
it cries out in pain
When a heart is abandoned
it becomes self sufficient as it stands in the rain
A lonely heart becomes depressed
and learns to self medicate
When a heart becomes an addict
it learns to deal
When a heart is ravaged it
looses its passion
And when love is lost within a heart
It becomes just another body part
(that can't be fixed)
© Ashley Rodden. All rights reserved
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
My thoughts of you are like poetry in motion
That fashion an endless bouquet of words
As if it were some type of request from the Divine
Each group of thought
Respective body of
Notion
Emotion
Devotion
Every moment brought on
By obsessive reflection
Or hopeful speculation
Embodiment of manic despair
Epitomizing this neural affair
Somewhere between the realms
Of dreams and constellations
Callus realizations
Curious ideations
My thoughts of you are like poetry in motion
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
As crazy as it might be
This callus is a beautiful thing to me
What's an ego to go unbruised?
What's a heart left unabused?
I didn't get this hardened shell
From concrete, glass, or fires of Hell
Why dwell on the knell you gave my cerebral gel.
I'm under someone else's spell
My palace with this Alice
Unshared with such malice
As what gave me this callus
It should be just now, us
I can say with a sense of pride
I needn't abide by a bride
Whos the great divide on each side
Without intention, will break my stride
I won't be denied
This emotional high tide
This woman which I confide
My side, a guide astride this distance ride
This callus thick of scorned love
Glad you're not what I'm thinking of.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Breast-ache woman, you beautify
behind redden scars
and befriend those who are
free from languid storm-hair.
I see you rate the raw breast-worship
of frantic whistles which collide against the
callus freckles of a moon-sea.
You ask, "Can you see the satellites that sate
lights of the city...Creating
causeways or ways to cause
the first chill of dirt in a Martini?"
I take a drink.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 3:11 AM UTC
At times,
Cold departures leave
A stain of faith.
You're departure,
However hellish,
Remains immaculate,
Even as you turn
With a blizzard on your heel,
Kicking Winter in
My eye.
You replace him up there.
Not in piety but
In hierarchy,
Of the royal void breed.
I tailor the nails to your palm
And broken foot.
Drying like slaughterhouse
Meat on my clothesline.
I found our nature
Profoundly meaningless.
Was it transcendence?
Algor Mortis?
Or did my new eyes
Survive incubation?
I await the birth pangs
Of sight,
Callousing the whole,
From lid to lash.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
It's been so long since I've touched you
So long since i've felt the scratch of the stubble surrounding your lips
The kind that I always complain about
But deep down i think you know how much I adore
It seems like it's been an eternity since I've felt the softness of your skin
The way it streches over your bones so delicately
My fingers repeatedly outlining the indents of your back
Fitting my hands into the deepest curves
My lips have never felt so lonely
Missing the tickle from even the slightest and most gentle brush of yours against them
Forgetting that talking is their main function
Wishing that instead their only job was to love
My legs hang loosely and awkwardly without having yours to intertwine with
And arms rest on each side of my body feeling desperate for companionship
Hands locked into oneanother
So accustomed to holding
Naturally curling inward
Craving the rough callus of your palms
I did not know
That a body could feel nostalgia
But a need for touch proves otherwise.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
Have you been to the City of Eternal Sunshine's
navel academy?
Belly buttons in the sun, sparkling and shimmering:
crescent moons like deep wells dug by
the callus hands of Woodspur's
first settlers.
They belong to desert roses, Coachella girls,
where wearing a bikini is not a sin, but a means of survival.
Clothed in eensy triangles, they've walked
with farm workers, reveled with festivals,
and prized the glory of Pueblo Viejo.
One can now better understand how this place
was nearly called Land of the Little Shells.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 4:10 PM UTC
Open my palms you see callus hands
I work hard to eat..
Refuse to earn off the streets..
In my darkest and deepest hole God had a plan..
The walking dead the living sleep..
I wish you could understand..
Listen be silent..
Consciousness we all can here him speak..
Honestly we're all on our death beds..
Can you see this flesh is dead...
Well I will say extra weight..
Cause it slows us down in this battle..
The world is Satan's slaughterhouse the lost is its cattle.
A second and a minute
Earthly life less than infinite..
Maybe I should keep it simple cause we all understand dollars and cents..
Ever jump over or get off the fence..
I can just pray this makes sense..
Open your mind stop being so dense..
You claim to be hard body but if I buck you flinch..
And if your back against the wall you fold and snitch..
This loyalty to a game doesn't makes sense..
Truth be told loyalty doesn't exist..
For example when my pops life got a eclipsed..
Not one so called friend came to check on his kid..
Countless stories that sound just like this
Slightly ****** as a reminisce
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
Bewildered in my own dissolution
Never thought It would come to this
As I stare down the barrel of the past 22 years
I can’t seem to find myself to be missed
For so long I have laid
Scattered like a sheet
Like a ghost throughout the hallways
No eyes to ever meet
How much my soul has lust after
She who is not mine
A friend to call upon
In the darkest of my nights
For there is no escape in this entrapment
Which binds me to the bed
Forced to sit and watch others enjoy their pleasantries
While alone in this room I have bled
As I hold out for what may not appear
Gripping on to the edge for I feel it so near
I wait for the sweet caress of the morning to come
Only to arrive at blackening of my very soul
What I begin to lack in empathy
I make up for in shame
So much this has taken out of me
There’s so much I wish to say
As I sit alone in misery
Watching my youth slowly fade
What he gives
He in turn takes away
For the world has been so callus
Never is anything free
What it rips from your hands
It only replaces with its vile deceit
Nothing more do I want from it
For so long it has remained the same
Take me away from it all
Release me from this state
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
I've been gnawing off my nails
faster than I learned to chew as a child..
I don't bleed as heavily as I used to,
thick callus has replaced the skin
that's been opened time and time again
after each lashing of your tongue
I was stronger than before.
I choke on the word victim
like strong alcohol spit it up in the bathroom sink
and set aflame like a molotov cocktail; it feels like war in my chest.
I picture her as something unknown to most;
something you run from in nightmares.
In the open, she was nothing to fear,
harmless in front of the eyes of another:
behind closed doors she was a titlewave and
I was always facing the wrong direction..
not a surprise, but I was never expecting.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC